


Remembering

by lyricalsoul



Series: Hiatus [15]
Category: Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Granada 'verse - Freeform, M/M, Sherlock tells all, Skeptical!John, reposting old fics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-27
Updated: 2012-08-27
Packaged: 2017-11-13 00:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/497189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricalsoul/pseuds/lyricalsoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes tries to explain. Watson scoffs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembering

"No."

"Sherlock, you cannot refuse to go. The Great Lady herself has requested it. You are the only one we can trust to do the job."

I look into the stubborn face, and grey eyes that are a mirror of my own, and sigh. Mycroft is a force to be reckoned with when he gets the bit in his teeth. It is rather low of him to appeal to my sense of pride in my country, but no trick is beneath him when he wants something done. "Watson..."

"He will understand."

"He will not." My tone brooks no argument. "I cannot ask it of him."

"He is not your wife who must be coddled and made to understand, Sherlock. He is your flat-mate, your biographer, your..." he trails off and stares at me for a long moment. "Or perhaps I have misjudged."

I look away from his knowing smile. "You are well aware that you have not."

"Sherlock..."

"Do not presume to lecture me about my affairs, brother-mine. Your own actions with a certain interpreter..."

"Quite right," he cuts in hastily. "Does the good doctor know of your feelings?"

"Not yet."

"You should keep such things to yourself," he sighs. "You will only find heartbreak at the end of that road."

"I have never felt this way before," I say. "And while I regret that there has been no one in your life to bring you such happiness, surely you must understand how important Watson is to me."

"But be that as it may, you cannot allow your personal feelings-" he says the word with disdain – "stand in the way of the job you are being asked to do. Moriarty must be stopped. Your mind and his are much alike. You alone have the wits and energy to see to it that he is punished for his crimes."

"Watson will not understand, Mycroft. And I will never... I will lose the very thing I have wanted for years. I cannot."

"You are not being asked, Sherlock." His tone is hard and firm. "It is for the service of your Queen. Go willingly or not, but you will go. How you do so is your choice."

I sigh, and find that tears have welled in my eyes. "I will never forgive you for this."

"You will, brother. It is but a temporary set-back."

"You do not understand, Mycroft. And I am certain that you never will. Make the arrangements."

He smiles and hands me a sheaf of papers. "I have already done so."

I leave Whitehall and begin devising a way to tell Watson of my feelings. After which, I must muster up enough courage to walk away from him.

 

***

 

"...it was important that you think me dead, Watson. Your inability to lie, coupled with your intense regard for me would have set Moriarty's minions on you, and they would have tortured the truth from you."

Watson looks skeptical. "Moran knew you were not dead. Your story is filled with inconsistencies and lies, Holmes. One does not have to be Sherlock Holmes to deduce that. Sigerson, indeed. You must think me incredibly stupid."

"I do not," I protest. "There are details that cannot be revealed, but suffice to say that Moriarty's empire was vast and his associates vowed to avenge his death."

"So even after all this, I am not to be taken into your confidence? You took your brother into your confidence, yet let me believe you dead? For years? After professing your undying love and passion for me? You made love to me, Holmes! I committed a sin against god, and wronged my own wife because I loved you. And what did I get in return? To be the butt of a grand joke by the brothers Holmes. It is only fitting, I suppose. I have been your buffoon for years."

"John, don't..." Lestrade's tone is pleading, and I have never despised myself more than at this moment.

"Fine." Watson stands, hands placed firmly on his hips. "Let us be about the business of capturing Moran, and serving Her Majesty. Then I can go back to my life, and you," he looks at me, "can go to the devil. With your brother."

"Dr. Watson..." Mycroft stands also. "The Queen herself ordered him to go. What should he have done? He did not tell you in order to protect you."

Watson ignores this, and shrugs into his overcoat. "Should I bring my revolver?" He doesn't await an answer, but goes into the consulting room, closing the door with a slam.

"Watson!" I call out. I move to follow him, but Lestrade's hand on my arm stops me.

"He won't talk, Holmes," Lestrade says. "The Watson you left behind is gone. The man left in his place will take some getting used to."

"Indeed." I look to Mycroft. "What did you say to him to make him despise you so?"

"Just what we rehearsed," my brother says sharply, and dabs at his lip again. "We have no time for this, Sherlock. We must move quickly, or we will lose our advantage."

"Of course." I feel slightly light-headed and dizzy. This new Watson is a force to be reckoned with. Unyielding, bitter, and angry. While I understand his need to hold on to such emotions, does my return mean nothing to him? "Let us be off then. Lestrade, you will have your men in place?"

"They'll be exactly where you want them. I'll be awaiting your signal." He nods to Mycroft and leaves the room without a backward glance.

"I told you that it would be a mistake to develop feelings for Dr. Watson," Mycroft observes.

"And I told you that I would never forgive you for asking me to choose," I remind Mycroft coldly. "I meant that with my whole heart."

"Yes, Sherlock. Just as you never forgave me for the untimely demise of your dog, the disappearance of your favourite scarf, and the fact that I told Mother you were the one who put those leeches in her bed. Among other things." He waves a beefy hand in the air. "Once we are done with this matter, you needn't worry about seeing me again."

"That suits me fine," I retort. "Shall we go?"

"We shall meet at the Diogenes club tomorrow morning." He heaves his bulk from the chair. "He does still love you, Sherlock. As long as he does, there's always hope."

I ignore him, and wish once again that I'd never agreed to go along with his madness, queen be damned. I brace myself, and go to gather Watson for our journey.


End file.
